


Essential Identity

by Brate



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4036363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brate/pseuds/Brate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Atlantis has a traitor in its midst, and Derek Hale might not be the only target.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Essential Identity

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [When Life Hands You Werewolves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082471) by [uraneia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uraneia/pseuds/uraneia). 



John Sheppard was tired. Oh, so tired. 

Rodney had been using his "talents"—to make the Ancient tech dance—for the past ten hours. Who knew thinking at things could be so damn taxing? John had finally escaped and was looking forward to communing with his bed.

He was just drifting off when Ronon's voice came through his earpiece. "Sheppard?" 

John groaned. Seriously, was an hour or two of uninterrupted sleep too much to ask for?

Then he heard a roar and two blasts of Ronon's magic laser pistol. Instantly awake and grabbing his gear, John asked, "Where are you?" 

"Training room."

John raced in the right direction. He switched channels and ordered Marine back-up, because he knew damn well Ronon never would. 

Clicking back, he ordered, "Sit-rep." 

"It's Hale," Ronon admitted.

John pushed himself a little faster. Derek Hale was a Pegasus native from yet another decimated planet that they had run across on a mission. Even with Hale's grim scowl and nearly monosyllabic utterances, John's instincts had said Hale was a good person. Still, despite being a member of the Atlantis community for several months now, John hadn't been able to get a solid read on him beyond that. Hale did his job and followed orders to the letter, which was refreshing. Besides, John trusted Ronon, and the ex-runner had vouched for Hale. The only thing Ronon had ever said about Hale's people was that they "could sometimes be aggressive." Understatement, if that roar John had heard over the radio had come from Hale. 

John skidded to a stop on the threshold of the training room, nodding to the Marines already stationed at the door, weapons at the ready.

There were only two people inside the room: Ronon and Hale, the latter lying unconscious at the edge of a mat. Hale's shirt was missing and, at a glance, John couldn't see any injuries. "What happened?"

Ronon shrugged. "He went crazy. I didn't want him to hurt anyone. Took me three shots to get him down," he added off-handedly. 

John's eyebrows rose. That was nearly the same amount of firepower used to take out a Wraith.

Looking at Ronon, John nodded at the slashes across his upper arm. "Looks like he already hurt someone."

Ronon shook his head. "This is nothing. He could've done some real damage."

"Is there something I should know?"

Ronon grunted. Which could mean _of course there isn't,_ or it could mean _yes but I'm not going to tell you_. Great. 

"Okay, we need to get him contained, then we'll work on this."

John called in the Marines and had them take Hale to the Wraith holding cell. "I suggest you hurry. I don't think you want to be near him when he wakes up. Use as little force as necessary to get the job done. "

"Yes, sir," the men replied as they each took an arm and dragged Hale from the room.

After they left, John's brain started sorting through possibilities. Hale hadn't been off-world in a couple weeks, so it was doubtful he'd caught anything that way. Though, just to be safe, John called and ordered Hale's teammates to report to the infirmary for blood tests. 

"You doing okay?" he asked Ronon. 

"Fine."

"No feelings of uncontrollable rage?"

"No more than usual."

John rolled his eyes with a grim smile. "Did you or Hale touch anything weird this morning?"

Ronon scowled.

"I had to ask," John said, hands up. "So what were you doing when he went crazy?"

"Training."

John sighed. This was why he could never go into police work: he was terrible at interrogations—both sides, in fact. He tried again. "What, in precise detail, were you doing, exactly, when Hale went apeshit?"

"We ran for about half an hour, came back here, drank some water, and then started hand-to-hand."

John digested the information and scanned the room. His eyes landed on the two water bottles sitting against the wall. "How long had you two been grappling before he started having problems?"

"Probably within five or ten minutes."

"Which one is your water?" John asked, gesturing at the bottles.

Ronon's brow furrowed for a moment, then realized what he was asking. "Mine is black; his is gray."

"Okay, why don't you head to medical and get checked out, have them do a blood test. After you're cleared, you can head down and keep an eye on Hale." 

Ronon started to walk away, stopping a few feet away. He didn't turn around when he said, "He's a good friend."

John knew how important that was to Ronon, the Satedan didn't have all that many friends left. "We'll fix this, buddy."

Nodding, Ronon left.

Once again, John was grateful for Ronon's never-ending paranoia that made him keep his pistol with him all times. They had that in common, at least. He walked over and eyed the water bottles, standard issue for the expedition—metal casings, opaque, available in three colors: white, black, or gray. 

John keyed his radio. "Rodney, I need you in the training room."

It took McKay a few seconds to respond. "I'm in the middle of something, can it wait?"

John shook his head even though Rodney couldn't see it. "It _really_ can't."

There was a longer pause this time, followed by a resigned, "On my way."

John had about three minutes to wonder what the Pegasus Galaxy was throwing at them this time before Rodney came barreling in, already complaining. At least some things were annoyingly consistent.

"What is so urgent that it couldn't wait until I was finished?"

"I don't know, Rodney," John drawled. "Maybe the fact that one of our people went crazy and tried to kill Ronon? Maybe I'd like you to look into this, and make sure it doesn't happen to anyone else? And maybe I'm hoping that if he wakes up still crazy, we can fix him."

"Oh." Rodney's hands fluttered around his face. "Well how was I supposed to know that it was something actually serious? I'm not a mind reader. And you always call me for the most inconsequential things all the time."

"Of course I do. I appreciate you taking time out of your very busy schedule to help me figure out why Derek Hale went cuckoo."

"Derek Hale? Isn't he that runner-wannabe?"

"Rodney, I'm serious. Hale flipped out and went after Ronon, who had to stun him three times to make him stop."

That made Rodney pause. "What makes you think it's anything other than him flipping out?"

"I don't know for sure, but I'd like to think there's something we can do. Ronon said they both drank some water before the incident. Can you test both bottles and see if there's anything strange in either?"

"Of course I can. I'll also have someone check the water tanks." 

"Good idea, thanks."

"Hey, anything I can do to stop this from becoming an epidemic." Rodney called Zelenka on the radio to confirm. "I'll see what I can come up with," Rodney said, taking the water bottles with him as he left.

John closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again and set out for the control room to talk to Woolsey.

***

Dr. Stiles Stilinski pulled another sprout from the main branch, repotting it with care, and setting it alongside its brothers. Five down, twenty more to go. He heard Brown and Kiang talking about some guy who had gone crazy a few hours ago in one of the training rooms. Stiles thought it might be pretty juicy gossip, if it weren't for the fact that there was always someone going crazy here. A year ago that might've worried him, but apparently he'd grown used to the foibles of life in the Pegasus Galaxy. Six down, nineteen to go.

"Bilinski!"

Stiles cringed, and looked over at the entrance to the greenhouse where his worst nightmare was standing. Well, maybe not his worst—that would probably be a hungry Wraith—but running a close second. 

"Bilinski!" Dr. McKay called again. impatience showing in his tapping foot and increasingly darker glare. "Where the hell is Bilinksi?"

Stiles sighed, caught a side-eyed look of sympathy from Dr. Kiang, and headed over to meet his doom. "Right here, Dr. McKay," Stiles called, waving his hand. 

"Well, I don't need you there, I need you _here_ , so follow me," McKay ordered. He turned and marched out the door.

Stiles took a deep breath and trailed after McKay. He had to hurry to catch up; McKay was already halfway down the corridor. It shouldn't be so hard. Stiles was close to the same height, but that man could hustle—probably from the years on the front lines going off-world with Colonel Sheppard. Stiles had no idea why McKay would need him, it wasn't as though they had much interaction; their fields didn't tend to cross over much. Everyone in Atlantis knew to either stay away from McKay, or get on his good side. Which Stiles wasn't sure he had.

"Keep up, Bilinski," McKay called over his shoulder.

"It's Stilinski, sir."

"You say that like I'm going to care."

"May I ask where we're going?"

"My lab," McKay answered tersely.

"May I ask why?"

McKay stopped in the middle of the corridor, swung around, and nearly hit Stiles in the face with a flailing hand. "Look, obviously I have a plant-related problem, and since you are supposedly a botanist, though I am doubting that more and more with every inane question, I thought you might be able to help. If I was mistaken, I will go back to that godforsaken plant farm and grab the first person I see. Perhaps they will be of more use."

"No no no no, that's fine. I'd love to help. Lead the way."

McKay huffed, turned around, and resumed his swift pace to the section of the labs where the physics team was located. 

Stiles sighed in relief then jogged to catch up again.

Once in McKay's lab, he was directed to a side table holding a petri dish with pieces of a leaf inside. "What is that?" McKay demanded.

"It's a leaf," Stiles answered automatically, internally wincing when he did. He really needed to think before he spoke.

McKay was not amused. "Look…that," he said, pointing at the leaf again, "was possibly used to poison someone on Atlantis. I need to know what it is, what it does, and if there is a cure." 

Stiles nodded, swallowing hard. "Let me take a look at it, sir." 

Once Stiles started studying the flora, he forgot to be nervous and was entirely focused on the task. He grabbed Dr. McKay's laptop and logged on to their botanical database, flying back and forth from the computer to the microscope multiple times, winnowing down his choices. 

***

John walked toward the "jail." He had shared the situation with Woolsey, and it had gone just about as well as he thought it would. He and Lorne had gone through the team rosters. Everyone was fine. Medical had come back clean on Ronon and Hale's team, too. Air filters had been double-checked. Nada. Hale's quarters. Nothing. Then McKay had come back with the water bottle analysis and things had gotten a lot grimmer. Woolsey wasn't any happier to hear that someone had possibly targeted one of his people. 

He nodded at the Marines guarding either side of the door, and found Ronon against the wall inside, watching a still unconscious Hale lying in the center of the containment unit. John walked over and leaned on the wall next to Ronon. "No movement?"

Ronon grunted.

"Woolsey has someone checking the video of the training room. We're trying to keep this as quiet as possible until we know what's going on. Which, of course, means it's all over the city already."

Ronon grunted again.

Great. People had accused John of being laconic, but he sometimes felt like Rodney compared with Ronon. No wonder he gets along so well with Derek. Hale might say five words on a good day. Maybe they didn't even talk to each other, merely communicated in grunts. Stranger things have been known to happen—pretty much every day in the Pegasus Galaxy.

John had just started to wonder if he should go check in with Rodney when Hale stirred. Both he and Ronon moved closer to the cell, but sprang back when Hale leaped at them with a growl. Luckily, the shields held and Hale was thrown back, nearly hitting the opposite cell wall. John stepped closer. Hale looked…different. His sideburns were extended, looking remarkably like Wolverine's mutton chops. His eyes were glowing blue and, oh my God, were those fangs and claws? John had one hand on his weapon as he moved to radio Keller. 

Ronon put a hand on his arm. "Wait."

"What do you mean, wait? He's mutating!" John refused to let his voice crack, even as he was struggling with a flashback to his own transformation by the Iratus bug.

"No, he's not," Ronon said. "It's something his people can do."

John's hands dropped and he looked over at Ronon. The Satedan refused to look him in the eye.

"So when you said 'his people were slightly aggressive,' you meant they turn into creatures from a bad B-movie. I think we need to work on your definitions. That…" John pointed at Hale, pacing the cell and growling. "…is not what I would refer to as 'slightly aggressive.'"

"It's not like that." Ronon grimaced. "It's more of a defense mechanism. They don't normally attack people, that's what was so weird about the training room."

He eyed Ronon. "You're sure he can't be the exception?" 

Ronon pointed grimly at the growling figure. "This isn't him."

"Did he do _that_ in the training room?" John swirled his hand around, encompassing the changes. "Because if so, whoever's watching the video is going to get an eyeful." 

Ronon shook his head. "No, he didn't transform."

"And it still took you three shots to take him down," John reminded him. "What about in this form?"

Ronon shrugged. "Might take more." It was a grudging admission at best.

Hale was up and pacing again, growling every time he neared them. 

Fantastic. "Okay," John said, "you are going to tell me everything you know."

***

Five cups of coffee, one blood test, and one memorable interruption by Lt. Greenberg later, Stiles crowed, "Whoo hoo!" and raised his hands, doing a celebratory shimmy.

"Am I to assume by your fit that you've found a solution?"

Stiles twirled around and pointed a finger at McKay. "Not cool, dude." Then Stiles realized who he was talking to, quickly hid his finger behind his back, and sputtered, "Uh, I mean—"

McKay cut him off with a hand gesture. "All I care about—in this instance—was whether you have solved our problem."

"Yes, I have. I think." Stiles swung around the appropriated laptop to show his results. "It's a plant we found on M3X-271. It's similar to several others we're discovered on various planets in this galaxy, but it's got a fairly specific line running through the leaves. They're poisonous, but the roots aren't. I think we may be able to formulate an antidote using the roots."

"Wonderful. And since you tree-huggers studied this plant, I'm guessing you have some in your greenhouse."

Stiles' triumphant grin faded. "Unfortunately, no. All of our specimens died."

"Then this didn't accidentally end up in Hale's water."

"No."

"Are you certain?"

Stiles chewed on his lip for a moment before shaking his head. "I can't see how."

McKay tapped his fingers on the desk. "You know this plant by sight?"

"Of course."

"Okay, you're on the mission," McKay announced.

"Wh-what mission?"

McKay displayed a look of annoyance before replying, "The one you just finished explaining needs to happen in order to get a live sample of the plant."

"But—" 

McKay raised a hand to his ear, activating his earpiece. "What do you mean, 'there's another problem'?" He started pacing around the room, hands waving as he argued with whoever was on the other side of the conversation. "Well the plant kid found an answer. Maybe. But we'll have to go off-world." McKay scoffed. "So he's an alien mutant? Wonderful." One last loop around the desk and, "I'll let him know." He signed off and turned back, finally acknowledging Stiles' presence. "Mission briefing at 1330 hours." 

"Oh, I've never been…" … _off-world._ Stiles had never gone through the stargate. There'd never been a reason to at the SGC—as an underling in the Botany Division—which is why he'd jumped at the chance to go to Atlantis. Though spending three long weeks cooped up on the _Daedulus_ had reminded him how lucky he'd been that Scott had been there to relieve the mind-numbing boredom, otherwise he'd probably have gone space-crazy. "…so excited."

McKay was already out the door.

***

They were waiting on Woolsey to start the briefing.

John listened with half an ear as Rodney discussed something with Teyla. She didn't look particularly concerned, so John didn't bother to listen in. If it became important at a later date, he'd play stupid and ask for a quick recap.

The other members of Hale's team—Captain Erica Reyes, Sergeant Vernon Boyd, and Sergeant Isaac Lahey—were stationed at one end of the table, quietly talking amongst themselves. Dr. Keller sat next to them, and Dr. Stilinski on her right. Christ, Stilinski looked like a freaking teenager, and was drumming his fingers incessantly He looked half a second away from either fainting or shitting his pants. John really hoped the kid was a fainter. 

Ronon was noticeably absent. He'd elected to stay in Atlantis and watch over Hale. John wondered if Ronon was feeling guilty—the first time Ronon spoke up for someone, he gets poisoned. He'd feel honor-bound to protect Derek. John fully backed that decision, since they still had no idea why he'd been attacked, who did it, and whether it had been a single person responsible or part of something larger….

The sliding doors drew John's attention as Woolsey strode into the room, taking the seat next to John. 

"Sorry I'm late. I wanted to finish going over the video with Banks."

"Find anything?" John asked, already knowing the answer before Woolsey shook his head negatively. 

"Nothing out of the ordinary, unfortunately. We still have no idea how this originated."

"Are we sure Derek was the intended victim?" Teyla asked.

"As near as we can guess," Keller offered. "If Ronon had received the tainted water, he would've gotten mildly ill—nausea, gastric distress—but that's about it. I believe Derek Hale's specific body chemistry was targeted, sir. I ran some tests to support this. No one else's blood had the same type of reaction."

"Okay, then, what are we going to do about this?" Woolsey looked across the table. "Dr. Stilinski?"

Stilinski nearly knocked over his glass of water as he shot to attention. "Yes, sir?"

"You believe an antidote can be created using the same plant that poisoned him?"

"Um." Stilinski cleared his throat."Uh, yes, sir. It's kind of like fighting fire with fire, I guess. But the roots carry the beneficial nutrients, while the leaves hold onto anything toxic."

Woolsey nodded. "And you know where these plants are located?"

"Not exactly, sir. I mean, I have the notes that Dr. Baxter left behind, but he was the only one from Botany to actually travel to that planet." 

John racked his brain for a moment, wincing when he remembered why that name was familiar. Baxter had been the first fatality during the Kirsan fever outbreak. 

"Yeah, so, um," Stilinski continued, fingers resuming their restless tapping, "I have his notes, so I guess I'm as good as anyone else." 

Woolsey paused, studying the botanist. "It's okay if you choose not to go, Dr. Stilinski," Woolsey said. "Just give us detailed descriptions and pictures of the plant. I'm sure we'll find it."

Stilinski stared at his notes, then looked to the end of the table to where Hale's team sat. He straightened in his seat. "No…no," Stilinski said more firmly. "I need to go. Better chance of finding and collecting it quickly, right?"

"That seems to be true, yes," Woolsey acknowledged gracefully.

"I came here to make a difference." Stilinski nodded. "I'm not going to let everyone down."

"Very well." Woolsey looked over at John. "Colonel, you have a go."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

Woolsey stood and left. Keller was on her way out when she received a call from medical. With a quick, "Hale appears to be getting worse," she hurried out.

John looked around the table; everyone left would be going off-world. "There's no telling how bad this is going to get for Hale, so we need to hurry. You all have thirty minutes before departure."

There was a chorus of "Yes, sir," with an, "Uh, okay," and a, "Whatever."

John asked Hale's team to stay behind, Rodney, never one to let his curiosity go, stuck around as well. John had told Woolsey about Hale's transformation, and they were keeping it on a "need to know" basis for the time being. Rodney, Teyla, and the medical team knew. John thought Hale's team needed to know. 

Apparently, he needn't have bothered. 

"What do you mean 'we already know'?" John asked, surprise making him stupid. 

"He showed us when he started going off-world with us," Lahey said.

"We're a team." Boyd's tone brokered no argument. 

John glared. "Yet you neglected to inform me, your commanding officer. Why?" 

Rodney was not so calm. "Are you all insane? Do you realize you might've put the whole expedition at risk? What if he had been contagious? What if—"

John cut him off. Rodney was making a logical argument, but that wasn't the crux of the matter. "You should have trusted us." 

Each member of Hale's ducked their heads, chastened. 

Finally, Reyes lifted her chin and looked him in the eyes. "We'll do better next time, sir." 

"I'm counting on it," John stated.

***

Stiles made another circuit around his room. _What did one pack to go to another planet?_ he wondered. He wracked his brain, desperately trying to recall all the tortuous videos they'd made him watch before he was allowed to come to Atlantis. Surely one of those had suggestions for off-world travel luggage, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember anything. And it wasn't as though he was going overnight or anything, it was just supposed to take a few hours.

"Oh, God, I'm going to die," Stiles lamented over his empty knapsack. Finally he thought, _Screw it_ , and threw in a change of clothes, his personal first-aid kit, two snack bars, and a bottle of water. Contemplating his problem, he threw on his BDUs. He'd been issued them before he'd left Earth, but hadn't really expected to wear them. Stiles had just added the specimen jars he'd taken from the lab into the bag, calling it done, when his door slid open.

"Oh my God, what is wrong with you?"

Stiles zipped his bag and swung around to greet his best friend. "Hey there, Scotty." He flashed his used car salesman smile.

Scott McCall was not impressed. He had a stern look on his face and his arms folded across his chest. Stiles had to admit that if he didn't know Scott so well, he might've been intimidated—the guy was pretty damn fit for a geologist. Although, it makes sense you'd have a bit of muscle when you lug rocks around all day. But, in reality, Scott was as dangerous as a six-week-old puppy. "Seriously, what is wrong with you? Why would you volunteer to go off-world?"

"Scott, there was a reason we came to Pegasus, you know? We were both bored silly at the SGC. We wanted a chance to do something cool. This is cool."

"This is semi-suicidal," Scott countered. "Just talk to Woolsey, explain you made a mistake, and maybe he'll let you bow out."

"He already offered to get a replacement."

"They said you didn't have to go and you're still going? Are you insane? Do you know what happens to people like us out there?"

"Technically we're already 'out there.' And this planet was designated safe."

Scott whined, "I'm sure a lot of them were, and yet we have very few unused body-bags lying around." 

"Look, you're my bro, but I have to do this. Someone's life is at stake. My stupid-ass plants could save someone's life."

Scott sighed and lowered his head, kicking his foot against the desk. 

Stiles knew when his friend was defeated. "Listen, I'm going with Sheppard's and Hale's teams. Between all those kickass people, I'm sure little ol' me will be fine."

"Don't jinx yourself!" Scott cried.

Glancing at his watch, Stiles swore. "I need to be at the gate in, like, five minutes. Walk me there?"

"'Course I will." Scott slapped Stiles on the back as he brought him in for a quick hug. "Just, promise to come back in one piece."

"I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Not funny!"

***

John's team was primary, and he stood guard as the others exited the gate. Reyes was first, instantly scanning the planet. Boyd and Lahey were on her six, primed and ready for anything. Stilinski was the last to emerge, a little shaky but not bad overall. People reacted differently their first time. Apparently, John had been one of the lucky ones; it hadn't really affected him one way or the other. 

"Fan out," he ordered. Teyla and the soldiers complied. 

John turned to Rodney, who waved him off, already on his tablet, searching for any signs of Wraith. "All clear," he reported after a short time.

"All right, this is your show, Dr. Stilinski," John said, ignoring Rodney's grumbling to his right. "Which way do we go?" 

Stilinski appeared surprised by the question, but he recovered quickly. "If I've deciphered Dr. Baxter's notes correctly—he tended to ramble," he said completely without irony, "then we should find the plant in that direction." He pointed.

"You sure about that?" John asked.

Stilinski managed to nod, shrug, and shake his head all at the same time. "As sure as I can be, Colonel." 

"Good enough for me; let's head out." John ordered, "Teyla, you're on point. Rodney, you're with me. Boyd and Reyes at our six. Lahey, shadow the doc."

They hadn't walked far when it appeared they were on the right track. Dr. Baxter had collected over fifty samples of different plants. They went by a few dig spots from the previous team. But Stilinski shook his head at the plants they passed. 

"Wrong ones."

Boyd checked his watch, and they continued on their trajectory, looking for a touch of color in this green green green-filled world. 

"I'm not sure why I had to come," Rodney murmured as if to himself, but clearly intended John to hear it.

"Yeah, I was kind of wondering that myself," John agreed, almost laughing at Rodney's outraged expression. 

"Oh, trust me, you'll want me when you get into trouble. I'm usually the only one who can figure out how to save our asses."

John tried to reassure him. "Rodney, this planet was designated safe. It helps that there's no one living here, so there's no reason for the Wraith to show up."

If anything, that made Rodney clench up more. "You've just jinxed us! And don't you think that's a tad bit odd, to have a completely uninhabited but viable planet? There must be some reason people don't live here. With our luck, you're going to trip over it."

Even for a world probably seeded by the Ancients, this was a plush one. It did make John wonder why people weren't living on it. "Well, if I do, then you can save me and then everyone will be happy."

"Don't think I don't know you're just trying to placate me. But I happen to know what you say is true, and will be accepting your apology soon enough."

John didn't actually doubt that at all. It appeared the thought of John begging for his help was enough to satisfy Rodney, and he settled into silence as he continued walking. Which meant John was free to hear Stilinski explain all the intricacies of the particular plant they were searching for.

"…dark green leaves, petals on long stalks, with purplish-blue flowers. Actually, I'm wondering if the sunlight on this planet taints the leaves and flowers, which explains why the roots themselves aren't poisonous…."

John heard Lahey _Uh-huh_ -ing every once in a while. John doubted he was even listening. All of them had been at the briefing, but at least the sergeant was putting in an effort for appearances. 

"…Scott knows what he's doing for the most part," Stilinski went on, "but I promised his mom I'd watch his back, you know…" 

Kid seemed to have a mouth on him. John was tempted to lock him and Rodney in a room when they got back and take bets on which could outtalk the other. His money would be on Rodney, of course—got to support his team.

Teyla gave John a pointed look, and they switched positions, allowing her to fall back until she was next to Reyes. 

"I was wondering if you had any idea who might have wished Derek harm," Teyla ventured.

"No idea," Boyd said. "He's a good guy."

Reyes added, "He not the most sociable guy or anything, but that's not a reason to want him dead."

"And he'd do anything for us. He—"

Lahey interrupted, "Is that what we're looking for?" He motioned at a small, blueish-purple flowered plant to the side of the non-existent trail. 

"That's it!" Stilinski said excitedly.

John was impressed. Lahey _had_ been paying attention to Stilinski's ramblings. "Sharp eye, Sergeant," he acknowledged with a nod.

"Thank you, sir." 

Stilinski knelt beside the plant, and started to unload his supplies: gloves, trowel, and a plastic container. Quickly donning his gloves, he drove the shovel into the ground and dug a circle around the plant. He scooped it up, gently knocking off the excess dirt, before placing it in the jar. "I'm hoping we can salvage the plant after we take what we need, and try to grow it again, save us another trip out here. Maybe we can keep it alive this time—under lock and key, of course, since, you know, poison."

"Sounds fine, as long as you have enough to help Hale first and foremost," John told him. 

Stilinski slid the pack on and nodded. "Absolutely."

"Okay, I say we get back to Atlantis, asap. Same formation as before, with Teyla on point, but let's double-time it."

They took off briskly; the faster pace didn't allow for conversation from either Rodney or Stilinski—which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. But John was pretty proud that Rodney kept up with them so easily; it seemed the extra training sessions hadn't gone to waste. Stilinski wasn't doing too badly, either, although he had youth on his side.

They were about half a klick from the gate, by John's estimation, when Teyla held up a hand, calling for them to halt. She was gazing at their surroundings with a careful eye. John and Hale's team brought up their weapons as they encircled the scientists. 

John called softly to Teyla, "What is it?"

She didn't take her eyes from the trees. "You said no indigenous life on this planet, yes?"

"None reported, no," Rodney agreed.

From off to the side, they heard a growl and crashing through the trees. 

"Move, move, move," John shouted, pushing at Rodney and Stilinski to get going. Everyone started running full-tilt for the gate. John held back with Sergeant Boyd and Captain Reyes. 

John had a moment to think they may actually make it when Sergeant Boyd was slammed to the ground next to him by a—Jesus, was that a green Saber-toothed tiger?!

Boyd was wrestling with it; he'd stuck his P-90 into its mouth and pushed back on its neck. The mutant cat raised his paw to claw him when John and Reyes each emptied half a clip into the torso of the cat. With a mangled screech, it collapsed to one side. Reyes and Lahey helped Boyd to his feet.

John gave him a once-over and didn't see any damage. "You okay, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir, just knocked the wind out of me," Boyd answered, checking his weapon. 

Rodney and Stilinski moved behind them to stare at the fallen beast.

"Holy shit, it's Battle Cat!" Stilinski squealed. At the blank looks everyone shot him, he frowned. "Seriously? None of you watched _He-Man_?"

"I preferred _She-Ra_ ," Reyes commented as she inspected the underbrush.

"What is _She-Ra_?" Teyla asked. 

"She was yet another hot chick that could kick everyone's ass," Rodney said. "In cartoon form. You'd like her."

There was a roar in the not-distant-enough distance. 

"You can discuss your terrible TV choices back on Atlantis!" John called. "Right now you all need to move your asses and get through the gate before we become Meow Mix. Teyla, don't wait for us. We need the gate open; we'll be coming in hot."

"Of course," she acknowledged. Within an instant, she vanished into the dense greenery. 

The rest made better time than they'd been doing—maybe because they now knew exactly what they were running from. 

When John heard another growl close to their position, he ordered the rest of them to keep going, but kept Reyes with him. They stopped and waited. Slowly they walked backwards, keeping eyes out for the next threat. 

This time, the cat charged from the side. Luckily, Reyes, reflexes were just as quick, because she already had taken it down before John got a single shot off. 

John continued to scan the area while she checked the body. "Clear," she called. 

The kawoosh of the gate opening echoed through the trees.

"Okay," John said, "head for the gate."

"Sir, I'm not leaving you."

"Captain, that's an order. And don't worry, I'll be right behind you."

There was a pause, just long enough to show her displeasure, then she reluctantly said, "Yes, sir," and took off.

Once her footsteps faded, he held still and listened. There was a slight breeze through the trees, but nothing that sounded like animalistic pursuit. Maybe they'd been lucky and it had been a mated pair, not an entire pack.

John took the chance. He turned around and booked it.

***

Stiles had never been so glad to be on a floating city in the middle of an ocean on an alien planet in a far away galaxy than he was right now. He braced his hands on his knees, leaning over and desperately trying to remind his lungs that he needed oxygen and it would be so wonderful if they would start working again.

Everyone had gotten through except for Teyla and the colonel. The gate room was basically on hold while they waited for their compatriots to return. Dr. McKay drew a breath and shouted up to the gallery, "Raise the shield as soon as they come through!"

Just as Stiles was starting to get worried, Teyla sprang through the event horizon, quickly followed by Colonel Sheppard.

Stiles wanted nothing more than to collapse, but he had to get the plant to Dr. Keller. The others could worry about the mission report—they'd certainly had more practice, anyway. Stiles straightened, swallowed a groan, and started hobbling away.

"Lahey," Sheppard called out.

"Yes, sir," Lahey answered, immediately falling into step behind Stiles.

Stiles heard the colonel shouting instructions behind them. "Boyd, get checked out; Reyes, make sure it happens; Teyla, get Rodney something to eat before he collapses; I'm going to report to Woolsey." If there were any responses, Stiles was too far away to hear them. 

They walked for a few minutes in silence, before Sergeant Lahey said, "I appreciate all you're doing. Derek's a good guy."

"Right now it's just a plant, not an antidote." There were no guarantees. 

"But you're going to figure it out, right?"

"I'm going to do my best," Stiles promised.

Lahey gave him a shy smile as they entered the infirmary. Stiles was directed to a back room where Dr. Keller had prepared the necessary equipment to synthesize an antidote. He greeted her then carefully unpacked the plant from his bag and handed it over. God, he was starting to feel like WALL-E. 

Soon he was utterly focused harvesting pieces of the root, trying out different configurations, and working with Keller to find the correct concentration. Lahey circled the room, updating Sheppard every so often. The computer ran constant simulations. Keller got regular check-ins from her medical staff: Hale was going downhill fast. Stiles had lost count of how many failures they'd burned through, and Lahey began to edge closer, nearly hovering over their shoulders. 

Stiles held his breath as Keller tested the latest batch. 

A slow smile spread across her face as she read the results on the computer screen. "I think we have it," she said unnecessarily. 

Sergeant Lahey keyed his radio and stepped out of the room, presumably updating the colonel on the situation. He came back and said, "Okay, we need to get you to Derek asap." 

Stiles' euphoria at the success of the cure disappeared. He tried to swallow the crushing disappointment at the thought of his involvement being finished—unable to see it through, to actually see someone saved. "Do you mind if I go, too? I kind of want to see it to the end."

"I think that's a fine idea," Keller said.

Lahey gave a terse nod. "Welcome aboard. The cell is nowhere near a transporter and down several levels. Get ready to jog."

Stumbling down the third staircase ten minutes later, Stiles had to remind himself he had asked to come along. He'd never been down to the bowels before; it was shocking how vacant it seemed. Intellectually he knew the expedition was limited to certain areas, but it was different seeing the empty expanse. It was a bit disturbing.

Lahey kept pace about ten feet in front of them, hands on his weapon, alert for trouble. 

It didn't help.

The sergeant had just passed through a doorway when an arm shot out from the side, holding some sort of stick, and shot him with a jolt of electricity. Lahey went down instantly. Stiles didn't hesitate, grabbing Keller's hand and running as fast as they could. He didn't relish being on the receiving end of a fricking cattle prod. Stiles had a sinking feeling they'd found whoever had tampered with Hale's water. 

Pushing Keller through an open doorway, Stiles immediately closed and locked the door after them, although anyone with a fairly good knowledge of Ancient technology would be able to break in within a few minutes. Stiles tried his radio but failed to get anything except white noise. With a head shake, Keller signaled that she was having the same problem.

"They must have a jammer. Shit." Stiles ran a hand through his hair. "Did you see who it was?"

Keller shook her head. "I only saw the…." And she waved her hands around as if they were describing the action. 

Stiles sighed. "Yeah, me, too." He looked around the room but there didn't seem to be anything he could use as a weapon, not that he would know what to do with one if he had it. None of the Ancient tech was operating in this section, they kept only the bare minimum running to avoid draining the ZPM. Radios were jammed, no weapons, psycho on the loose—there was only one option left. Stiles gestured at Keller's medical bag. "You have any extra syringes in there?" 

"Of course."

"Okay, fill it up with anything you've got and give it to me."

She did as requested. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to pretend this is the antidote," Stiles held the syringe up, "to lead them away, and then you need to get to the cell as quickly as possible." 

It looked like she was about to object, but Stiles rode right over her. "We have no choice. Derek Hale needs that medicine, and we can't call for help. This is the only way it's going to work."

She looked, studying him for a moment, before nodding solemnly. "All right."

Stiles gave a small smile before repeating, "All right." He clutched the hypodermic, grateful it had a cover on the needle. Knowing his somewhat spastic self, the last thing he needed was to get stabbed. "I'm going to sneak out of here then start making a lot of noise. Wait until you're sure everyone is following me—we don't know if there's only the one."

"What if they're just waiting on the other side of that door with a bunch of guns?" 

Stiles just stared at her for a second. "Jeez, worst case scenario much? You're as bad as Scott." But he hesitated before unlocking the door. Raising his eyes in prayer, Stiles slid it open, thankful that the doors were practically silent and no one jumped him immediately. He peered out, looking both ways; they appeared clear, so he nodded to Keller and ducked out of the room, moving as quickly and quietly as he could until he was what he gauged to be far enough away. Then he purposely banged against a wall and cursed, hoping to draw the attacker to him. Man, if he lived through this, Scott was going to kill him.

He heard something, could've been footsteps drawing near. Stiles took off, making sure not to soften his own footsteps, in opposition to every precaution his brain was screaming. But he had to make sure Keller was free to get help. 

Stiles hadn't gone far when he heard a woman's voice, "Come out, come out wherever you are." The sing-song quality was terrifying.

"Okay, that's a bit creepy," Stile muttered to himself as he moved a bit faster. He really hoped Keller was in the clear because this was a bit more adventure than he'd been wanting to have. 

The voice of doom was calling out to him again. "If you come out now, little piggy, it'll go much easier on you!"

Stiles refrained from rolling his eyes. The taser/cattle prod sparked against something and Stiles gave up all pretense of bravery. He started running. He kept leading his pursuer away from Keller and ran straight through a doorway and across a large room to find there was nowhere to go. He'd reached a dead end—just hopefully not a literal one.

***

John nodded to Billick and Donovan as he passed between them into Hale's current "quarters." They remained outside of the room, per Woolsey, ordered to keep out all but cleared personnel, and keep Hale in.

Visually securing the room as he entered, John made his way to Ronon. He could see the toll it was taking on the Satedan, the countless hours Ronon had spent watching over his friend. John knew Teyla had relieved him for a few hours while the white coats were working on the antidote—Teyla being one of the only people Ronon would trust to look after Hale, and who'd basically kick his ass if he didn't accept her assistance. Ronon must've just returned from his break. 

Hale was curled up in a fetal position in the far corner of the cage, panting for breath. John studied him a moment before going to Ronon's side. "How's he doing?"

Ronon shrugged. "He's getting worse. Hasn't moved in hours."

Closer up, John could see there were black lines snaking through Hale's veins, and they seemed to be spreading throughout his body. "Well, Keller and the kid are working on an antidote. Lahey seems to think they're close."

As if on command, John's radio activated, and Sergeant Lahey reported they'd created the antidote successfully. He would bring the doctor down immediately to administer it.

John acknowledged the call and signed off, then turned to Ronon. He clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Ask and ye shall receive, big guy. They're on their way with a cure." John could feel some tension drain from Ronon at the news, though he knew it wouldn't vanish entirely until Hale was out of danger. John gave a final pat and stepped back, leaned against the wall, and prepared to wait. 

Apparently, he wasn't prepared to wait an eternity. John checked his watch again. He knew it was a long way down to the bowels of Atlantis, but still…he was starting to get a bad feeling, and Ronon had started to pace. 

His paranoia was confirmed when Dr. Keller ran into the room, ponytail askew and wheezing heavily as she struggled to get words out. The Marines remained at the door, guarding the exit. 

John raced to her side, nearly run over by Ronon who was doing the same. "Doc?" John asked, once it looked like she was breathing more easily. 

"Someone attacked us on the way here. They took out Sergeant Lahey with some kind of stun gun. Dr. Stilinski led them away so I could get the medicine to Derek."

Dread flowed through John. "Where did you last see him?"

"Two flights up, Section K."

"Okay, Ronon, you stay here with Dr. Keller, make sure Hale gets the meds, and that no one gets near him," John added when it looked like Ronon was going to argue, clearly torn between coming with John and staying to protect Hale.

Finally, Ronon gave a short, jerky nod.

Checking his ever-present gun, John snapped, "You're with me," to Billick and Donovan, calling for back-up as they left. Shadowed by his men, John raced to the area designated by Keller, feet pounding up the stairs as quickly as his heart pounded in his chest.

Once on the correct floor, John motioned for stealth. Although it rankled not to run in guns blazing, he knew it was too dangerous for everyone involved. Rounding a corner, just inside the section, they ran across Sergeant Lahey. A quick check proved he was merely unconscious. John ordered Billick to stay with Lahey, before moving on with Donovan. 

They cleared rooms by the numbers as quickly and quietly as possible, until John heard raised voices. Cautiously, they crept forward. 

"Give it to me!" A female voice demanded. John didn't recognize it, but it could've been the deranged pitch that threw him off.

Motioning to Donovan, they moved in silently, taking opposite sides of the room. John sighted his gun as he went forward. He could see a woman, vaguely familiar. He was almost certain she was one of the scientists, but he couldn't recall which division. Right now she was looking more than a little psychotic as she waved a knife in front of Stilinski's face. 

"Where's the plant?" she demanded angrily, getting closer and closer to contact. 

John eyed a smashed syringe, fluid spread in a puddle around it. He advanced, trying to get as close as possible before confronting her. And then Donovan scuffed his boot against something. 

The woman whirled, bringing Stilinski in front of her, hand around his throat, knife at his back. 

Hoping she wouldn't be able to see Donovan from her location, John stepped out, drawing her attention. He didn't need to hear her speak to know she was off the deep end. "Crazy eyes" Rodney called them—she was the absolute definition of that. He leveled his weapon and ordered her to release Stilinski. 

"You don't understand," she said. "I was doing this expedition a service."

"By poisoning one of our own? Then attacking others?" John slowly edged closer. 

"That's just it," she hissed. "Hale isn't one of us. He's a freak, an alien. He turns into a monster!"

John shrugged. "Yeah, so what? He gets hairy once in a while. I have this damn cowlick that'll never behave. We all have our crosses to bear. From where I'm standing, yours appears to be being a homicidal bitch." If she would just move an inch to the left, he could take his shot.

"It doesn't matter anyway," she said, smirking as she glanced at the broken syringe. "His antidote is gone. And once I take care of this one," she tightened her grip on Stilinski's neck, "there won't be anyone left to make any more."

Donovan was almost in position. "Yeah, that?" John asked. "I don't know what that was, but Dr. Keller has the real medicine and is giving it to Hale as we speak. And I'm guessing he'll be on his feet in no time."

In hindsight, maybe taunting a murderer wasn't his best plan ever. Especially when she was holding a hostage. But John had been trying to get her angry enough to come after him. But it seemed she'd decided "a bird in the hand…" and before John could react, she'd pushed the knife into Stilinski's back, dropped him to the floor, and thrown a second knife at John. 

John ducked, incredulous. She rushed at him, screeching, and he took her out.

"Secure her!" John snapped at Donovan as he moved to kneel beside Stilinski. The doctor was still wearing the BDUs from the mission. He'd unfortunately taken the vest off, though it would've offered meager protection from a knife. The black of the shirt made it difficult to see the extent of the damage, but the darker stain of blood was far too easy to see. John put his hands against the wound and pushed, endeavoring to stop anymore blood loss. His pressure elicited a groan, and John puffed out a breath of relief.

"She's gone," Donovan reported, straightening up after checking the body. 

John acknowledged with a nod, then raised a hand to his radio to summon assistance. He snarled when he got only white noise. "Goddammit! Radio's out." 

"Jammer," Stilinski coughed out, nearly breathless. 

"Donovan, search her. Smash anything electronic." He had to push a little harder on Stilinski to keep him from rolling over. "Doc, you need to stay put," he said gently.

"Hale?" Stilinski asked.

"He'll be fine," John answered. "Keller got there with the medicine."

Donovan called, "Got it, sir."

John heard a crunch off to the side, and his ear was instantly invaded by voices. He cut across them all and ordered emergency medical personnel, giving their location. 

Donovan handed him some gauze from his vest, and John pressed it against the wound. It elicited another moan from Stilinski, who shuddered as another wave of pain hit. 

"How you doing there, Doc?" John asked. 

"Not so good." 

"Just hold on, help's coming."

"Think I'm gonna…. pass out, if it's okay… with you," Stilinski countered.

"Do what you gotta do, Doc. We'll take care of you."

"Thanks…" True to his word, all the tension drained from Stilinski as he lost his battle to stay conscious. 

John held tight against the bleeding wound, only backing off when the medical team arrived and took over. 

He stood and watched them work. "Any news on Lahey?"

One of the nurses nodded. "He seems to be fine; just knocked for a loop. As a precautionary measure, he's being taken to the infirmary to get checked out." 

"Thanks." John felt he'd been enough of a distraction, so he went to check on Donovan and their dead suspect. 

"What the hell is going on here?"

John rolled his eyes and turned to greet Rodney. Teyla was just behind him, taking in everything. 

"Oh my God, that's Kate Bennet!" Rodney exclaimed as he saw the body.

"You know her?"

"Of course I know her. She worked in the xenobiology section. I mean, I didn't work with her, but I do know all my scientists, no matter what Zelenka says."

John nodded, filing the information away. He called for Donovan. "I want you to round up Billick—he probably went to the infirmary with Lahey—and thoroughly search Kate Bennet's room." He wanted to know if she'd been working alone, if there was still a danger to Hale, or if there was anyone else on her To Do list.

"You mean she was the one?" Rodney asked, scandalized. 

"Looks like," John answered. 

"Well, she definitely could've gotten access to the plant." 

Yeah, the poisonous plant Botany couldn't keep alive. John wondered if the plant had had help in its demise so it couldn't be used as an antidote. "Oh, she had a jammer."

"Where is it?" Rodney stuck a hand out.

John pointed at the pieces scattered around the corpse. 

"Oh, great. That'll be useful," Rodney grumbled as he bent to collect them.

"Have you heard from Ronon?" John asked Teyla.

"Derek is doing remarkably well. Still unconscious, but healing quickly. Ronon will continue to watch over him until Erica and Vernon can take over." 

"Okay." John nodded, something in his gut loosening at the news. At least Bennet hadn't won. They would live to fight another day. "Okay, let's get to work."

***

Stiles knew immediately that he wasn't in his own room—it was too bright and too loud. Had he fallen asleep in Scott's quarters again? That asshole better not have stuck his socks in the freezer like last time. When he tried to roll over, everything came flooding back, his memory and the pain. That crazy woman had stabbed him. So he must be in the infirmary. 

"Don't move," a rough voice said from beside him.

"A little too late, but that's good advice, dude."

"Derek."

"Huh?"

"My name is Derek, not _dude_."

Stiles had kept his eyes squeezed shut, blocking out the majority of the light and wishing it would work the same on the pain. But now they flew open to see a stranger—a dark-haired, very large stranger—sitting next to his bed. In the infirmary. Of course. "You're Derek Hale."

"Yes."

"You're okay."

"Yes. Thanks to you."

"No," Stiles said, "that was Dr. Keller who figured out the cure."

"She told me you lured Kate Bennet away so I could get the cure in time."

"Anyone would've done the same."

"You're wrong."

Stiles tried not to blush. Yet another reason to hate his pale skin. "You're welcome. I'd say 'anytime,' but honestly I don't want to go through this again. It kind of sucks."

"I can imagine."

"But I'm going to be okay, right? I mean, I can't feel too much unless I move, but I'm guessing that's the drugs, not paralysis or anything." Okay, now that he was thinking about it, the freak-out was coming to the forefront. 

Derek seemed to know he was on the edge and rushed to reassure. "You'll be fine. There was some damage from the knife, but they were able to fix it. They say you just need rest."

"Rest, okay, yeah. I'm excellent at that. As long as I don't have to sit still while I do it. So why are you sitting here, anyway? I would've bet on Scott being the more bedside vigil type." 

"He's on your other side. You took so long to come out of it he fell asleep, so they shifted him to the bed beside yours."

Stiles was smart enough, this time, not to try to look over his shoulder. But now he knew to listen for it, he could hear Scott's quiet snores signaling he was, indeed, close by. "That boy has a severe lack of stamina," Stiles mused, then struggled to contain a yawn. "Speaking of…."

"Go ahead and rest. I've got the watch."

Stiles didn't know why it made him feel better, but it did. He gave a grateful nod as he drifted off.

***

John had to keep from sprinting the last twenty yards as he neared the mess hall. He felt as though he'd been trapped inside Rodney's lab, "helping him," for _days_. He was beyond starving. Even prisoners got three squares a day, right? He loaded up his tray and looked around for an open table, spotting Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall at one end of a large table.

Apparently, Rodney saw them as well, because he started complaining about how Hale's team had requested Stilinski join them on off-world missions, "As if an away team needs a freaking botanist!" Rodney scoffed.

John picked the table next to Stilinski's just to annoy Rodney. Honestly, at this point he was hoping for an away mission so he could get some rest. This close, he couldn't help but overhear some of their neighbor's conversation.

"Battle-Cat, huh?"

"Cross my heart, dude."

"Nice."

John rolled his eyes as McCall reached across the table to exchange a fist bump with Stilinski. Civilians.

He wasn't all that surprised when Derek Hale joined Stilinksi's table a few minutes later—quickly followed by the rest of his team. Keller had said Hale had been lurking around the infirmary quite a lot during the kid's recuperation. Looked like the doctor had gotten his very own guard dog. John tried not to chuckle at the mental image.

Lahey and McCall had their heads together, chatting away, while Reyes laughed at something Stilinski had said, and Boyd looked on with a smile. Maybe things had worked out pretty well for the rest of them, too. Ironic, since Bennet's mission had been to cause strife between them. 

Ronon set his tray on the table next to John and motioned at his pudding cup. "You gonna eat that?" 

"Help yourself," John said.

"Hey, I would've taken that if you didn't want it," squawked Rodney. 

"Rodney, there are plenty up at the counter," Teyla soothed, taking her place next to him. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind giving you another cup."

John snorted. Teyla didn't know Rodney had pissed off Sergeant Craig, who was in charge of the kitchens. He wasn't getting much pudding until he apologized. Which meant never.

At least the mystery of the poisonous assailant had been solved, up to a point. Kate Bennet née Argent, had supposedly been sent by her father Gerard, one of the biggest—alleged—Trust supporters in the Senate. He'd probably helped her finesse her way through, and used her married name to hide the connection, so no red flags would be raised by her assignment to Atlantis. All the evidence pointed to her working alone, though John was sure his people would remain on high vigilance for the foreseeable future.

Unfortunately, Kate's death would probably only solidify her father's beliefs, that the only good alien was a dead one. 

"So what do you think?" Rodney asked, vying once more for John's attention. 

Luckily, a few years with Rodney allowed John's brain to split his attention and he said, "I'm thinking you need to compensate for the catalyst in the solution or else you won't have a lab left after the explosion."

Rodney seemed taken aback, both by his ability to follow the conversation as well as being able to contribute something useful. The shock didn't last long before he waved a hand dismissively. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Yeah." John nodded, smiling. "I'm sure it'll all be fine."

 

Belladonna, n.: In Italian a beautiful lady; in English a deadly poison. A striking example of the essential identity of the two tongues.  
—Ambrose Bierce


End file.
